


Conjoint-Au

by Blank_Ideas



Category: Bendy and the Ink
Genre: Based on my own au, Conjoint-Au, Its on tumblr, Might Add More, Other, Reincarnation i suppose, depends if any of ya'll like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Henry had always been an odd child, his glasses never cleared the smudge at the edge of his vision and he was never paticularly interested in well... anything. Everyone has always claimed of his resemblence to a grandfather he never knew, so when a letter arrives coming from a mysterious man named Joey Drew, he decides to follow it.Whether the letter is a swing, a ladder or a noose, he's ready for action.





	1. Chapter 1

Henry John Sketched, the stocky grandson of the previous co-creator of Drew Studios, Henry Wallace, his namesake. From a young age Henry knew he was different, whether it was the constant flickering in the corner of his vision that his parents had claimed to be an over reactive imagination or the way he had foggy memories that he could never quite grasp but were always lurking by him, like a reassuring hand the shoulder. His mother had been pregnant by the time his grandfather died, so he never met the man but people always called upon his resemeblence to the bearded fellow and despite how much his sister would beg to play, a pen and paper always seemed like the better option.

Henry the younger was infact eighteen when he recieved a letter, old and crumpled up, in the post. From a mysterious man named Joey Drew, whom must have meant to send it to his grandfather rather then him of all people. His deceased grandfather. And while most would ignore it, assumed the letter to of come very late upon accident, assumed that Joey knew of Henry seniors fate and had forgotten the letter, Henry the younger was not the usual bystander. 

So with the growing contempt for the never changing surroundings of his home town creeping on him, the pressure of further education and the heavy torrential rain coming from his family at all sides, Henry takes a break. Grasping onto the rope this letter had hung for him, and whether it was a swing, a ladder or a noose, he didn't know nor care, following the little information he had... all the way to the boarded up building. 

It was dark and musty, flutters of dust dancing in the few bars of light the windows would allow, floor boards although bathed in the fresh light of an open door, creaked beneath each heavy step as Henry slowly made his way inside. Rattling coughs, shaking his frame wildly, leaked from his dry throat as he talked absent mindedly to himself, pottering about the place trying to find something of importance, doing what felt natural. The front room had been rather simple with the projector and screen, the many posters on the smooth walls with the cheesy poses and grins plastered on them

As he moved in quiet, his lungs pounded in his rib cage, the weird little note crumpled up in his clammy fist he looked around more so, stooping before the catd baord cut out before him and swiping a sweaty thumb over the cold surface. Seemingly ancient, filled with an odd suffocating warmth that choked his ability to speak, the building was filled with creepy cutouts painted with his grandfather's art and polished off with a glowing sort of look, his dim light only highlighting the odd lack of dust of the horn tipped top. His grandfather's desk, littered with tiny pictures and a stiff wooden desk sat discarded before it. Walking silently, Henry took a deep breath watching as ink steadily began to cover the walls and the floor, feeling his breaths become lighter as he stumbled before the ink machine. Odd. Having never read about such a thing, he decided it be best to move on until he found the podiums. Fix the ink machine. The odd thought traced his mind quickly, with such a convincing sound to it that his dark brown brows furrowed together, it didn't sound like his. No, not all. Too warm and higher in octave, it sounded odd but it's kept going despite his opinion. By then it was a little too late of a reaction, his large frame jumping slightly as he turned as quickly as he could, giving himself whiplash in the process. Just, another cut out.

Smooth. Clean. A ludicrous smile plastered on it's face. Cute pie cut eyes watching him from a distance with slouched shoulders showing the demon to be relaxed or as relaxed as a demon could be, it was startling. Extremely unsettling, cussing his pulse to quicken as he darted past it and into the room. The room was the only way to describe it, a repulsive scent stinging his nostrils, that tall gangly figure hanging limply from the table with flies settling in a gruesome feast on the lax organs just hanging there with a thick black liquid spilling from the tubes. Henry's eyes squeezed shut, never any good at gore, dropping his phone down to the ground before darting off again back down the hallway, Joey or whatever his name was, must of been mad, haunted house or not, 'Who's laughing now' should not be written on walls or atleast in Henry's opinion.... He finds the book, taking it with him out of lack for better thought as he also takes other items, hoping to piece together whatever creepy image might have infected this place but with no leads, he finds himself doing the least sane thing, placing each item on a podium. Waiting, quietly once pressing flow, he didn't expect the fuzzy edges of his vision to connect for a brief second.

A younger man, fuzzy around the edges with strings of flaxen hair covereing a pair of dark eyes, he wore simple clothing with trousers and a button up, ink stinging both, ink staining his hands and his shoes and the tips of his hair to the tips if traingular nose. Ink staining him.


	2. Chapter two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's still here on the bullsh*t train... Oh wait.

The figure, though stained with ink and haunted in expression disappeared within a blink, body morphing into nothingness despite the fuzz returning around his vision. A bitter cold, a freezing feeling washed over Henry as he pulled taught the red hoodie around him, with little comfort coming from the warm material and yet he stood there, staring at the spot with a desperate beating in his heart and yearning for the idea that he wasn’t going insane. Over reactive imagination, sure. But the strong musk of ink and dust, better not be getting to him, better not be creating such gorey monstrositys in his mind such as the corpse of Boris... Though there was doubt in his mind.

However, if it is the stench, then he must be imagining the welling blackness surrounding him, slowly creeping as if it were a spider on the prowl. A predator that all ready had its claws around his ankles, pulling down at his feet with thick inky talons that stained his loose grey trousers, a predator that felt strangely realistic. And like any prey in a predators grasp, Henry bolted with the fastest sprint he’d done in a while, heart pounding and large fists clenched tightly into jagged balls while the note sat firmly in the pits of his pockets while his thick brunette curls bounced up and down before his obscured green eyes. While his glasses slowly slid down his round nose and he stumbled clumsily on the discarded wooden boards that’d been hidden beneath the steadily rising flood, he hadn’t time to remember the cold presence lurking on his shoulders even as it distanced itself, tugging at a thin transperent black cord connecting it to the large rushing figure. 

“Jesus christ Henry…”, the words fluttered through his ears before he had time to register his steady falling as his green eyes widened and his glasses fell off, his gaze becoming even blurrier as his world faded to black and he hit the floorboards beneath with a crack.


	3. Chapter three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey Drew, didn’t remember much.

Joey Drew, didn’t remember much. Sometimes he could draw foggy connections between the fresh out of college entrepreneur he was and the elder man, sat in a worn wheelchair beside a tall yet odd machiene. Sometimes, just barely, a little puzzle piece of imagery containing an exhausted middle-aged man would fill the blur before continuing on to fade into a smear of paint in the dark inky blackness that surrounded him, that scared him, he remembered grasping a cold white light, plastered with a ludicrous but still luminous smile and getting up off the ground. Why had he been sitting? Since when had he been sitting? He had no idea.

With each of his foot steps slowly clicking on the slick black floor, his torch slowly guided him through the maze of gruesome growls and such until, until he came across a small child. A baby, with thick tufts of brown hair and bright green eyes creating a painting on a small chubby face. It seemed to hold out to him, a familiar look in its eyes and as he too reached down, his torch ebbing into the very child as he startled and stood back, a slow dripping in his ears. He observed anxiously as the darkness around him lit up bright white, seeing a nursery fade in slowly wirh bright colours painting ovrr the blinding white and he observed as it changed with the baby before him slowly growing up right before his eyes. Slowly it got quicker and quicker, and when the days became seconds he suddenly became aware of the black almost rope around his waist, dragging him after the young male as he was forced to watch it all with an unavoidable front seat. But at some point it stopped, a tall young man with now dull green eyes that hid behind murky glasses and thick curls of brown hair, of the dead tree kind, stood before him with his back turned to Joey but a firm grimace set on his tanned face. Joey watched him enter the ramshackled studio.

~~~

Joey Drew didn’t remember falling, he didn’t remember having the ability to fall or pain. But now he suffered with it, head throbbing in minor dismay as he groaned painfully and slowly picked himself up, body already thrumming with agony as he staggered forward and nearly tripped on the large man sprawled out on the floor. Henry.

Gently, his foot nudged the firm chin of the other, trying to wake him as he struggled to vocalise something that he had no idea what. As thin strands of his own flaxen hair shifted before his deep brown eyes, he yelped as a pair of certain green eyes snapped open, unsteady feet leaving him to trip back onto the floor.

“Wha- who? Wh-hat?!” Henry’s tanned face was positively puzzled, his large body sitting up without out a seconds thought with the thick ink encasing his lower legs heavily or he would’ve stood as well. All he could do now was stop and stare with now widened yet dull eyes could do was stop at the creature before him, the familiar man or more likely monster who’d he’d seen only a few, what felt like seconds, prior.

Though, joey knew that hed stryggle to soeak if he could at all he tried but, Joey tried and said nothing with only strangled noises leaving him, he couldn’t say anything with raspy noises leaving his grated throat while he shifted, trying to move back from the obviously startled man.

~~~

Henry looked back at the memory in quiet thoughtfulness, while the pair of men walked down the wooden hallway. The fire axe was heavy in his hand as it rested on his shoulder, but he said nothing, neither did the flaxen haired man beside him. God this was a hell hole… but atleast he wasn’t alone.


End file.
